


Valentine's Day

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Aromantic Character, Fluff, Hugging, Love, M/M, Presents, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 19:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3353129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moran searches for an elusive book, impulsively buys the professor a Valentine's Day gift and then finally too late decides the latter action was a really terrible idea when the recipient of the gift is not the romantic sort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valentine's Day

_January_

    “No demand for it, he said!” Moran exclaims loudly upon entering the room. “The cheek of the man!”

    Moriarty, glancing up from his paperwork, is somewhat at a loss to know how to respond to this so he settles on a rather non-specific, “Ah”. He hopes this will be sufficient to appease his companion so that he can return to reading through his students’ work in peace.

    Moran however seems to have other plans. “Smug git practically said I was common!”

     Moriarty flicks another brief glance up over the tops of his reading glasses. “You, my dove, common? Never,” he says. “You are a _rara avis_ indeed.”

     Moran settles himself heavily beside the professor on the settee, apparently deciding from Moriarty’s response that he has a sympathetic audience. “You know what else he said? ’Memoirs of those great hunter types are ten a penny these days! There’s so many of those chappies gallivantin’ about the jungles and so many of the blasted books as a result I couldn’t give ‘em away any more!’ _Bastard!_ ” he adds.

     Not troubling to look up from his work again, Moriarty drops a hand onto Moran’s thigh and rests it there lightly. “Shh, Colonel, calm yourself.”

     Moran sighs sadly. Immediately when he feels Moriarty’s touch he seems to deflate slightly and lose some of his fury. “I just… I know maybe it sounds daft, that it were only a thing, an object, but it hurt to lose ‘em. I just wanted to find a copy of it again.”

    “I know you do.”

    “If I ever get my hands on the little gullion who pinched my copies…” Moran’s fists clench slightly. Perhaps, Moriarty thinks, he is imagining wringing the neck of the thief.

     “I’m sure you will find one again sooner or later.” Moriarty pats Moran’s knee reassuringly before withdrawing his hand.

     “Hmm.” Moran sounds far from convinced by this.

     As his lover lapses into moody silence, Moriarty looks at him again very briefly, but very thoughtfully.

 

~

  _February_

   “Have you become confused about the date, Colonel?” Moriarty enquires upon being presented with the neatly wrapped little package. Nothing overly fancy but still, the gift itself and the coloured paper and ribbon seems somewhat unusual.

    “No sir.” Moran grins at him.

    “It is not my birthday.”

    “No Professor, it’s not.” Moran continues grinning. “Well, will you open it?”

    “Very well.” Moriarty carefully unties the ribbon and unfolds the heavy paper to reveal a small box of the kind that may generally hold jewellery. He raises his eyes to meet Moran’s questioningly again. “You are sure you have not got your dates mixed up?” he asks as he opens the box to reveal… It is a silver tie pin in the shape of a bird with its wings outstretched – no, not just any bird but a pigeon, and extremely finely crafted.

    Moran sighs somewhat theatrically. “What day is it, Professor?”

   “Saturday,” Moriarty replies, carefully removing the tie pin from its black velvet backing.

   Moran pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “I meant _besides_ Saturday.”

   “The fourteenth of February.” Moriarty looks somewhat puzzled, as if entirely unable to grasp the significance of this.

   “It’s Saint Valentine’s Day!” Moran cries at last. Surely, he thinks, even the professor cannot have failed to take notice of the plethora of cards for sale everywhere recently, filled with nauseatingly sweet love poetry and covered in frothy lace or tawdry ribbons; in birds’ feathers, glittering glass jewels, dried flowers and seemingly anything and everything else the manufacturers can think to cram onto them. Moran had sneered at these, thinking them all terrible, and indeed at the day itself. A day for newly married young lovers and yet-to-be-wed sweethearts, not for men like him and the professor.

    But then later, strolling past the jewellers, the exquisite silver pigeon pin had caught his eye. A pretty little thing but not _so_ pretty, still clearly masculine enough that he thought the professor might like it, and it had seemed daft even then to contemplate giving him a Valentine’s gift, but he had decided to risk it. Perhaps Moriarty will think it amusing if nothing else, he had thought, and it has to be better than sickly cards or flowers anyway.

     Now the idea seems more foolish than ever, not even funny, just very very stupid, and Moran could kick himself for daring to try anything romantic with the professor. Moriarty seems not to have merely forgotten that it was Valentine’s day but to have never been aware of its existence in the first place. Seemingly he truly is entirely oblivious to romance and it’s not his fault, that’s just his way and Moran is just an idiot for even daring to think that the professor would ever think to acknowledge such a mawkish day as St Valentine’s day, a celebration that even the colonel himself had always reacted to disdainfully before.

    “Oh,” Moriarty says quietly.

    “I just… saw it and thought maybe you’d like it, is all,” Moran says, glancing away. “It was just… a silly idea really, giving it to you today.” He should have saved it for the professor’s next birthday and avoided all this awkwardness.

    Seeing Moran’s face fall, Moriarty puts out his hand and catches Moran’s in his, squeezing it. “It’s beautiful, Sebastian, and I am immensely grateful to you for such a thoughtful gift.” He stands up so that when he draws Moran to him he is now taller than the colonel. “It was not silly.” He kisses Moran’s forehead gently.

    “It was. I know you don’t do this romance malarkey, this sentimental stuff.”

    “It was a kind gesture and a truly lovely gift. Really, Sebastian, it is beautiful; thank you.” Moriarty looks Moran in the eyes, speaking with such kindness and sincerity that Moran cannot doubt him, before he glances down at the tie pin again. “I confess though that… this celebration customarily means nothing to me.”  

     “I didn’t mean to try to make you celebrate something you don’t care about,” Moran says, his voice rather muffled now against Moriarty’s shoulder. “Or to make you feel awkward about it.”

    “It is merely new to me.” Moriarty lifts his free hand, the one not holding the pin, and puts it to Moran’s jaw. Gently he turns Moran’s face up so that he may place a sweet kiss upon Moran’s dry lips, noticing how Moran closes his eyes to better savour this. “Receiving a Valentine’s gift… nothing like this has ever happened to me before. If only I had something to give to you in return, pigeon.”

     Moran abruptly opens his eyes. “I don’t need anything in return, that’s not why I got it; I never expected you to-” He breaks off as Moriarty holds a second neatly wrapped package up in front of him. “Where did you…?” Though it is pointless to ask where he concealed it or how he managed to so abruptly swap the tie pin for this object without Moran noticing the change; Moriarty is the master of sleight of hand.

    Moriarty smiles at his lover’s momentary confusion. “Happy Valentine’s day, Sebastian,” he says softly.

    “Professor, I…” Moran continues to stare at the parcel for several seconds, not moving to touch it, as if he fears that the instant his fingers connect with the thing it will vanish and turn out to have been merely an illusion all along.

     “Well?” Moriarty says. “Are you not going to open it?”

     “Yes sir, of course sir.” Moran takes it from him at last and it does not vanish; instead it feels solid and almost square within its neatly wrapped brown paper, perhaps like a book. Undoing the ribbon that binds the gift, Moran removes the wrapping to find out that is indeed a book; one that he was starting to fear he might never set eyes upon again; one that he feared even perhaps that all copies of it had long since been torn up for lighting fires or for people to wipe their backsides on. “Professor,” he breathes, quickly but carefully flicking through the book, examining it; it appears to be a still perfect condition copy. After a moment or two Moran looks up at Moriarty’s face again, his eyes shining. “Where did you…? When did you…? _Thank you_.” He looks at Moriarty for a second before he steps closer towards him again, silently questioning, wanting to be sure the move will be welcomed; receiving permission to proceed in the subtlest of nods before he presses himself against Moriarty and slides his arms around him.

      Still there is the briefest instant of tension on the professor’s part, perhaps not from reticence but simply because people, before Moran, did not hug Professor Moriarty. The experience remains a rather novel one that he has yet to fully get used to. But the stiffness to his posture passes swiftly and Moran feels Moriarty leaning into the embrace. “Thank you,” Moran says again, nuzzling against Moriarty’s neck.

    “You are most welcome, my dove,” Moriarty tells him, still smiling, fondly amused by his companion’s reaction. He too puts his arms around Moran now, drawing him even closer. His gaze falls on the tie pin, placed gently upon on the arm of the settee, over Moran’s shoulder. It really is a very lovely thing, he thinks; perhaps he shall wear it later today.

    “Professor…” Moran continues to embrace Moriarty, smiling happily, the professor pressed tight against him and then grasped in his right hand still, held behind Moriarty’s back, there is his precious book: _Heavy Game of the Western Himalayas_ , by Colonel Sebastian Moran.


End file.
